‘Are the guests okay?’ Fox blurted.
Then she shrank into her blazer. Why had she asked about the well-being of other people? That was not the Petty-Squabble way… Her parents had drummed the family motto into her so many times she genuinely believed that stamping all over other people’s feelings was how you behaved if you wanted to get to the top. Only it seemed she was so dreadfully talentless that she even got stamping on other people wrong.
Gertrude looked on, appalled, and Bernard’s reaction was no better: ‘Hard-headed businessmen and women do not waste time worrying about other people, Fox! Next you’ll be telling us you’re feeling sorry for all those affected by these silly water shortages.’
Fox glanced at the newspaper on the table; the worldwide water crisis still dominated every headline. It hadn’t rained anywhere on earth for months. Rivers and reservoirs had dried up across Europe, crops were failing and plants and animals were dying. Further afield, where droughts were commonplace even before this catastrophe, countries had now been without water for almost a year, so rainforests were withering, famine was a regular occurrence and communities were descending into violence. Meteorologists, scientists and environmentalists had warned about the devastating effects of global warming, but no one had foreseen the speed of this disaster.
Gertrude followed her daughter’s gaze. Then she picked up another grape, squashed it between her fingers and flicked it onto the carpet for someone else to clean up. ‘So long as we have money – which we will have because things always work out in the end for those who stamp all over other people – we will always have access to water. Who cares about everybody else?’
Fox nodded. ‘I don’t plan to lift a finger to help the environment or other people,’ she said firmly.
And she meant it. What she didn’t know was that she was dangerously close to an adventure that would force her to do the exact opposite.
Bernard reached for his clipboard again. ‘I’m going back to the kitchen to throw my weight around some more.’ He looked at his wife. ‘And, since Petty Pampering is on its knees, I suggest you do the same in the spa.’
Gertrude raised a haughty eyebrow at her children. ‘As for you two… It’s high time you started doing your share of the work rather than sponging off us. Petty-Squabble profits are at an all-time low so, when your father and I return, we want to hear your business proposals. No more dilly-dallying with half-baked snippets of information. We want hard, clear, profit-soaring facts.’
‘Disappoint us again,’ Bernard called as he and Gertrude marched towards the door, ‘and you’re both off to Antarctica first thing tomorrow. So, you will stay here until you have those business proposals ready for us!’
The door slammed shut and Fox swallowed.
But, without realising it, Bernard Petty-Squabble had uttered two words which would prove to be his downfall. For telling a child to stay here is about as pointless as telling them to keep quiet. Commands like these are lethal for children because they have next to no control over their legs and mouths.
And though, at this precise moment, Fox was imagining being stamped on by a colony of furious penguins, it wouldn’t take long for the words stay here to echo through her body and stir her legs into disobedience.
She glanced at Fibber. Eating his business plan was no longer an option because he had stashed his papers safely inside his briefcase and only Fibber knew the code to open it. Stealing the briefcase and disposing of it all together, however…
So, without more ado, Fox leapt up, grabbed the briefcase and legged it out of the penthouse suite.
‘FOX!!!!’ Fibber roared. ‘Give me back my briefcase!’
Down the corridor Fox ran, desperately trying to cobble together a plan. Where did you dispose of items for ever and ever and ever? Other than Antarctica…
She glanced over her shoulder to see her brother hurtling down the corridor after her. There was panic in his eyes as well as fury. Fox ran faster, charging past the hotel rooms and slipping into the elevator just as it was closing. She heard Fibber bang a fist on the other side of the door, but he was too late. The lift was already sinking down towards the ground floor.
Panting, Fox turned to the lady manning a trolley of cleaning products in the lift beside her. ‘How would you go about getting rid of something very quickly?’
The lady thought about it. ‘My husband once left a pair of dirty socks in a cupboard for twelve years before I found them. They smelt of dead badger.’ She paused. ‘So I burned them.’
Fox gripped the handle of the briefcase. Was real leather even flammable? She looked up at the lady. ‘Got any matches on your trolley?’
The lady laughed, then realised Fox was being serious and that there was a dangerous glint in her chestnut eyes. ‘What exactly is it you’re trying to get rid of?’
Fox considered her answer, then held up the briefcase. ‘My dad has decided he doesn’t want to let work stand in the way of a perfectly good holiday, so he asked me to dispose of this.’
Fox’s heart, despite the wall around it, ached suddenly. Not at the lie – she was used to twisting the truth, though she wasn’t as good at it as her brother – but at the shape of her world, which was unnatural and unfair and unbelievably cruel. And, to her horror, she felt tears rising up inside her. She pursed her lips at the lady and thought of something foul to say.
‘If you don’t come up with a sensible plan for the disposal of this briefcase immediately, I am going to lodge a complaint to ensure the disposal of you from the Neverwrinkle Hotel by dinner time.’
The lady blinked and then sighed as if she
